The Gift
by Suishou no kimi
Summary: To not give your best is to sacrifice the gift. -Steve Prefontaine. Some people are geniuses of their own making. Some are born geniuses. Meet Michiyo Akiho. Maybe Kyouya AKA Kyoya x OC eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. However, I do own Michiyo Akiho, Michiyo Terasu, Michiyo Hajika, and Adelaide Schmidt.

Author's note: Review please! :) Constructive criticism is appreciated. The kill Mary Sue-ness is in Chap3.

(Words in italics) _This _is Akiho's thoughts.

* * *

"Akiho-san."

"Terasu." Akiho nodded in acknowledgment and her blank gray eyes (courtesy of her German mother) left the glowing screen of her laptop, although her bracelets continued to jingle to the rhythm of her typing.

"You know, you could be more formal around your own father," Michiyo Terasu lightly reprimanded his sixteen-year-old daughter, his withered body swaying lightly in the wind that swept into the spacey room.

Akiho nodded again as a sign to continue; her interest was slightly perked. It wasn't every day that her father (one-sidedly) traded banter with his daughter.

"Hajika needs help on math homework," Terasu sighed. "You know your brother isn't exactly intelligent."

"Ah." Akiho turned her gaze back to the laptop (having deemed this conversation boring), mumbling to herself under her breath disgustedly about idiotic siblings and how they should burn in the underworld.

"So will you help him?" Michiyo Terasu tapped his Armani-shoed foot impatiently, though apparently not fazed by her discourtesy. The media practically melted at his feet anyways; if his daughter did that too, he would be ashamed.

"Send a tutor." Michiyo Akiho waved a hand of dismissal, shaking her head, irritated. "We're rich."

"If you socialize more, I'll make you heiress," the leader of Michiyo Corporations pleaded for the seven hundredth and thirty-seventh time. _Don't need it._

Akiho just pointed at her laptop screen. Looking over her shoulder, her father's eyes skimmed through an unfamiliar company website, complete with employee health benefits, products, graphs of progress, and FAQs. A checkbook next to her was full of hefty paychecks for her overworked employees.

"You seem to have your start-up well started off." Michiyo Terasu gazed at the screen, surprised. "I had no idea that you were actually serious about this endeavor."

"Ah." Akiho picked up her Pineapple laptop and packed up to go to work, tucking her checkbook in her purse. She was a tensai, after all.

"Payday, I assume?" Terasu noted that his daughter's face was slightly scrunched up, just like his on paydays. Even if they were billionaires, the Michiyo family couldn't help but be stingy.

"Mm." Akiho gave an un-amused smile in consent and roughly brushed a stray hair away from her eyes. "Work. Bye." She walked out of the room and a chauffeur in a navy blue suit immediately appeared to drive her to Akiho Corporation's headquarters.

"They grow up so fast…" Adelaide Schmidt, her mother, cried dramatically while tossing her long brown hair back.

Terasu groaned. "You mean, Akiho just grows up too fast. And don't get your hair in my face, please. I have a press conference today."

* * *

Meanwhile, at Ouran...

Kyouya was sidestepping the fainted fangirls and taking notes, Tamaki was charming his blushing guests, Haruhi was using her natural host skills, Hikaru and Kaoru were playing out another twincest scene amid a mob of crazed ladies, Hani was bouncing around the table to his customers' delight, and Mori was being a statue, somehow charming the girls at his table in the process of being a rock. Perfect.

Akiho pressed her fingers to her temples as she leaned against the leather seats of the limousine. Her family was such an annoyance; Akiho's father kept trying to get her to socialize, her mother kept trying to get her to be a dress-up doll, and her brother was loud, obnoxious, popular, and dumb.

"Ouran," Akiho commanded her chauffeur. The chauffeur nodded. He was Akiho's favorite driver; polite, not talkative, and one that would not bring disgrace to the Michiyo name. After all, ruin the Michiyo Corporation's name and you were going to be murdered a few million times over.

Akiho sauntered through the hallways of Ouran High School, looking for all the world like an average Ouran student. Her yellow dress was tailored, pressed, and put on neatly, and she stood with regal posture. Her pin-straight black hair fell gracefully over her shoulders. She brushed up the winding stairway and walked right into the Third Music Room, settling in a chair in a corner.

"Michiyo," A man with black hair and rimless glasses greeted her, giving a slight bow and sitting in a seat across from her. He settled his Pineapple laptop on the coffee table. _Mmm. That's the latest model that I designed._

"Ootori." Akiho stood up and bowed slightly, feigning surprise. She noted his neatly combed hair, perfectly ironed clothing, neat appearance, and the black notebook by his side. _Good. _Pleasantries aside, she sat down and waited for him to talk.

"You're not supposed to be wearing an Ouran uniform. You're a Lobelia student," Kyouya smiled warmly, although it didn't reach his eyes.

_Evidently. _"Obscurity." Akiho tapped her long pianist fingers impatiently on the wooden armrest of the seat. _Could you just get to the point? I've got a track meet to attend, piano to practice, and work to go to._

"You know that I didn't call you here for tea and flirting."

Akiho gave a small smirk, and nodded for Kyouya to continue. "Yes."

"I wish to propose a deal. My father is interested in your start-up and would like to buy it." Kyouya scrutinized her face for any sign of resistance, his hand ready to press the button that would call his police force. After all, his father had told him to _make _Akiho sell off her company. And being Kyouya, he would do anything to win his father's favor and become heir of Ootori Corporations.

Akiho looked at his tensed hand and quickly identified the object in his grip as a police force remote control. "Put it down." Kyouya sighed in resignation, set the button down, and settled his hands on his lap. "And to answer your proposal, no."

"If you don't agree, we'll immediately remove all health benefits from your company." Kyouya leaned towards her, leering as his glasses flashed dangerously.

Tamaki shivered from across the room, and immediately retreated to his corner. Scary...

_He would dare? _"And if you do so, I'll immediately disable not only your entire company and family's computers and communication systems, but also the Japanese government's systems as well," Akiho countered, her voice oozing with honey although the comment was obviously a threat. Akiho's gray eyes drifted over to the laptop on Kyouya's side. _Like that one._

Tamaki grabbed Haruhi's hand and sprinted out of the room "My daughter!", and Mori covered Hani's ears "...".

Kyouya's hand drifted near the deposited control; however, Akiho's bodyguards immediately surrounded Kyouya's waiting police force. The police force dropped their guns, immediately realizing that they were overpowered.

"You underestimated me." Akiho walked out, dropping the smile that previously adorned her tanned face, and put on a taunting one. "Ootori-san. No wonder you won't be heir."

"Neither will you," he called out after her.

"I don't want it. You?"

Maybe not so perfect.

-Aoi


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. However, I do own Michiyo Akiho, Michiyo Terasu, Michiyo Hajika, and Adelaide Schmidt.

Author's note: Reference to Prince of Tennis in this chapter, specifically Atobe Keigo. One more chapter until the kill Mary Sue-ness :)

* * *

Michiyo Akiho honestly treasured obscurity; however, she held pride even closer to her heart. And to keep everyone in awe of her prowess, she continued to be the insuperable and overworked tensai that she was—winning national and international track meets, destroying competition at piano events, and founding a start-up with power that rivaled countless full-fledged businesses run by adults. To form a truce between the rivaling forces of her heart, she sustained her reputation as the tensai out of school; however, she hid her identity while in the charge of the useless school, Lobelia, which her father strongly recommended her to attend.

"Akiho!" _Dear lord, can that obnoxious woman ever stop talking?_

"Amakusa." Akiho forced a gracious smile onto her generally stoic face.

"My dear! How come you have not yet joined the Zuka Club?"

"I apologize," Akiho gave a perfected fake laugh that made Benio swoon. _Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. _"But I have no time for such pathetic ventures. Good day."

* * *

"Is Akiho Corporation a part of Ootori Corporations yet?" Ootori Yoshio leaned backwards on his revolving chair placed behind his engraved marble desk.

Kyouya stayed silent, his sturdy frame melting a little like rock under pressure. He contemplated just not answering and walking out of the room; however, the two six feet some bodyguards standing at the doorway left that out of the question.

"No," Kyouya replied, a steely tone in his voice.

Yoshio stood up. Unlike Michiyo Terasu, the white strands in his hair were no indication of his weakening and age. His obsidian eyes locked onto Kyouya's melting ones, his own way of replying without words. _I expect it soon._ The head of Ootori Corporations always got what he wanted, and a small start-up was no exception.

Kyouya shivered imperceptibly as he looked at the ground; if he didn't get Akiho's company to his father soon, then he would lose favor and thus lose his shot at being the heir.

* * *

Whenever anyone asked Akiho how she managed to perfectly to excel in three major areas: athletics, music, and business, Akiho just smiled and said, "Hard work."

Hard work was her life, and her day: with all the self-inflicted stress in her life, she skipped over childhood and teenager-hood. With the stress every day, her schedule was pressed to the point where sleep was no longer an option. And without sleep, she was slowly disintegrating even before the prime of her life. One hour per day was dedicated to napping; the other twenty-three were for working, training, and practicing. Insomnia, photographic memory, and antisocial disorders were the only things keeping her going.

* * *

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The blasted work phone decided to assault Akiho's ears at three in the morning, exactly halfway through Akiho's nap. Although irritated, she sat up straight and picked the phone up habitually, speaking in her best business voice.

"This is Akiho Corporations. Is there anything you would like?" _In the middle of the night? This better be an emergency._

"Moshi moshi. This is Ootori Kyouya. May I speak to your boss?"

"It's me, Ootori. Would you like something?"

"I wanted to talk out my father's deal with you."

Amused, Akiho decided to humor him. "Yes?"

"My father agreed to buy your company for twenty-five billion dollars; twenty-five hundred billion yen. Is it a deal?"

"No," Akiho bluntly stated. Even in her sleep-muddled state, she could decide when someone was trying to rip her off or not; and this was the former.

"Could we negotiate it at the Host Club tomorrow? Say, four o' clock?"

"Yea. Totally dude." Akiho replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disgust.

Apparently, the third son of Ootori Yoshio didn't know the definition of sarcasm. "Really?"

"No." Akiho looked at her international clock.

"Why not?" Kyouya was exasperated; what was up with the one word answers and her unwillingness to accept his deal?

"I don't exactly plan on flying from Texas to Japan to discuss some rip-off sale with some idiot trying to win his father's favor. I've got better things to do; as in, anything." Akiho decided that she had enough with this useless discussion. "Call me later."

Yawning, she went back to work. It was impossible to sleep after waking up anyways. Scratch that, it was nearly always impossible to sleep.

"Akiho! Go to sleep, damn it!" A sleepy and agitated six foot tall black man in a pair of wrinkled boxers—what happened to the silk pajamas she bought him?—burst into the room and threw the poor girl onto the unused bed.

"Ooph! Coach!" Akiho's voice was muffled by the pillows he threw onto her head.

And heck, she had a race tomorrow.

* * *

Michiyo Akiho wasn't known for winning races.

Michiyo Akiho was known for destroying races—which she affectionately called "kicking gluteus maximus". And once she stepped onto the track, Akiho completely transformed.

"Aiko! Can I have your autograph?"

"Aiko! Aiko! Aiko!" Akiho swaggered, laughed, and tossed her ponytail back, chatting amiably with her coach about her latest sponsorship with Nike. On the track, she was no longer Michiyo Akiho. She was Aiko, the young star with no last name but with a huge fan posse that followed her to every race. Here, she had nothing to fear.

Akiho reveled in the simplicity and informality of track and field races. There were no attending bodyguards following each person (although hers still did, in the disguise of teammates), servants rushing around following their masters' every demand, and silk dresses. It was the track, field, bleachers, and her; in this scene, she could be anything she wanted to be.

"Our Open 200 meter champion, Aiko!"

"Our Open triple jump champion, Aiko!"

"Our Open 400 meter champion, Aiko!"

Akiho just shrugged at the congratulations and slipped the medals onto her neck. "Coach, how was that 200 meter?"

"Decent. You need to bring your knee up a bit more though; otherwise, you'll be stabbing the ground with those spikes. No one else may notice the minor issue, but that's what made you lose out on the gold medal to that woman during the Beijing Olympics. They're not cheap," her coach admonished. Ahiko looked at her silver and navy blue Nike spike shoes. Embellished with her track name "Aiko" on the sole, they were personalized to fit her foot and taste, and would cost a fortune to buy if the aspiring buyer was not Akiho herself.

Thing is, she was Akiho. And she had that fortune.

* * *

-Aoi


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. However, I do own Michiyo Akiho, Michiyo Terasu, Michiyo Hajika, and Adelaide Schmidt.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews/favs/alerts! Please continue to do so. :) I apologize for the excessive horizontal rulers and the short chapter.

* * *

How did you describe it? The world's at her feet, and she's falling apart in front of them.

_There's only so long you can hide behind that curtain._

It took her four years of work and eleven years of studying to build her own empire. It took her ten years of training to become a track star. It took her twelve years of practice to become a piano prodigy. It took her less than one year for her to start falling apart while trying to piece all of them together within a twenty-four frame, and her perfect world started to come crumbling down.

_It's not possible to be perfect._

* * *

"You've got one minute to sell me your offer." Akiho turned on her racing stopwatch.

Kyouya faltered and started to improvise his speech about how Akiho Corporation was not even worth that much--no offense--so she should just accept the money.

"And you just failed. Rule one: Never insult your prospective taker's company. Rule two: Never belittle your prospective taker's fortune." The deal was impressive in itself; twenty-five billion dollars. What he said was true; the rip-off wasn't that Akiho would lose money (quite the contrary), the rip-off was that it would eventually bait in the Michiyo family business—worth much more than twenty-five billion dollars. Besides, they had too much money anyways.

_Why do I even bother with this?_

_

* * *

_

"Akiho."

"Yes?"

* * *

Akiho yawned coyly as she stepped onto the stage and smiled at the audience, her thin lips curling slightly upwards. A flowing black and gray silk dress was wrapped around her body, much to her disgust. _I hate being dressed up._

"Today, we'll be playing the Piano Concerto in D Minor, Op.30 by Sergei Rachmainoff." The conductor looked at Akiho, waiting for instruction. Akiho quickly scanned through the people behind the piano. Two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, a tuba, timpani, bass drum, snare drum, cymbals, and strings. Good. She nodded.

Fingers laid themselves over the ivory keyboard, tan against white. She could never stand those pale rich men's ladies, porcelain dolls that they were.

The orchestra began, its quiet voice filling the already packed room. Fingers danced as they flew gracefully through the piece without using any of the authorized cuts. After all, it was a piece of art, one that should be cherished in whole. Emotion filled her as the music swelled and dropped, and she wiped her brow lightly with a silk handkerchief at the breaks. Forty minutes. Forty minutes of escape, of beauty, of emotion.

A single bow threw the previously-silent crowd into fits of excitement, and they threw lavish gifts onto the stage. Akiho passed the best bouquet to the conductor. "Thank you." Akiho chose to tuck a daisy behind her ear: simplicity. "Good day."

Michiyo Akiho walked off stage, brushing off the makeup around her sunken eyes. The insomnia was getting to her. A few attendants rushed to her as they fussed over her makeup; "The press is waiting outside!"

* * *

"You need to stop living like this."

"I know."

* * *

"That was excellent!" Michiyo's father proclaimed as they walked out of the concert building, cameras flashing all around the family. "You played like Horowitz."

Akiho laughed shyly, looked down, and replied in the ideal submissive-daughter voice, "I doubt it. Thank you though, Father." After all, she had to give off the appearance of a prospective perfect trophy wife.

A large hand settled on her head. "Hey, sissy," Hajika stated as he soaked up the limelight. Rich ladies squealed as they whipped out their cellphone cameras.

"Hajika. Please be kind enough to remove your hand from my head," Akiho replied scathingly, dropping the facade slightly. _Hajika's ruining our image._

Michiyo Hajika shook his head childishly and stuck out his tongue. "Don't want to." _More fangirls. Shouldn't he be acting like a refined gentleman?_

"Don't be so immature." Akiho put her hand up to her head and forcefully pulled off his arm, smiling apologetically at the media and the rich ladies who were fawning over him. The idiot was getting to her.

Michiyo Terasu sighed as he watched his children bicker, muttering irritably._ Goodness. _Then again, he did marry a woman that seemed to pass on all of her genes--minus the intelligence to her son. _They might as well switch bodies. _They completely smashed the Japanese stereotypical useless woman and strong man image.

"That would be somewhat awkward, father." Akiho shook her head and groaned almost imperceptibly as she stepped into the limousine. Terasu sometimes wondered whether she had ESP. "It's just called listening to you talk," Akiho stated.

"What?" Hajika yelled. To shut him up, Akiho passed him a small note. "Ew! That'd be gross!" Hajika went into a spaz attack, his blonde hair flying all over the place. _My God, he's annoying._

_

* * *

_

"So when will you?"

"Someday."_  
_

* * *

-Aoi


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. However, I do own Michiyo Akiho, Michiyo Terasu, Michiyo Hajika, and Adelaide Schmidt.

Author's Note: Sorry for not uploading; however, I didn't die quite yet. Please review :)

* * *

"Michiyo. This is your first warning." A steel ruler slapped down on the desk, alarmingly close to Akiho's head. A few brave—suicidal?—students snickered.

Akiho looked up from her comfortable desk in irritation at the similarly pissed teacher looming over her. "Ah?"

"Please don't sleep in my class."

"As if," Akiho said, glaring at the teacher as she messed with her hair and tied it into a neat ponytail with the trusty barette on her right arm. The few lamely chuckling classmates immediately trailed off and shut up as if the girl had held a gun to their head and a spear up their… never mind. "Anyways, I'm leaving now. There is no need to inform the principal." After all, if he inquired, he might as well retire from his job forever.

* * *

The Michiyo mansion was a castle of a grandeur rivaling the Hitachiin's. As such, they also appreciated fashion, beauty, and a life of absolute wasteful luxury, complete with excess maids, chefs, limousines, supercomputers, and furniture. The maids there were used to their masters strutting in and out at random times of the day, although only one entered and left at an unsystematic manner as their second-to-youngest master. After all, the cat had to be worse than Akiho.

This time, the young master had shouldered her bag and left at 8:28 AM, and returned at precisely 8:32 AM, two minutes after her first class was supposed to commence. No questions were asked, as was the norm--the Michiyos were known for their satanic composure. However, the glare melted quickly when the young lady noticed her precious kitty-- the maids called it her twin-- sitting on the windowsill. She immediately strode over to the impassionate and aloof ebony cat, and started sweet-talking her suddenly sweet gray-eyed darling.

The maids gawked at her while the usually impassive girl made kissy noises to the cat and whispered sweet nothings into the cat's hairy ear.

"I know what you want, sweetie-pie," Akiho cooed, taking out a small pastry out of her backpack. "Here, cutie-pie. Here, here."

Yes, that cat had problems.

Just then, the girl's mother walked into the dining room, carrying a platter of mangoes and blackberries for the Ootori emperor.

"Akiho! What are you doing here?" Adelaide inquired, playfully tilting her blonde head although her gray eyes betrayed that she already knew exactly what had happened.

Her daughter smiled. "I dumped cockroaches into a bowl of lasagna for brunch and ate them. It was quite tasty, really, although the teachers didn't seem to approve," she remarked candidly.

Shocked, Adelaide said, "Dear lord! Akiho! You know that your father doesn't approve of your odd voracious appetite at school!" The mother cried, "I'm so worried about you and your antics!"

The girl sighed and said, "I was kidding, mother. You're too gullible."

"Well, you're horrible at sarcasm. Now go buy me a pail of strawberries."

That German woman... "You always want strawberries."

* * *

Ouran students don't ride cars.

They ride limousines.

And therefore, the entire host club was crammed in a limousine.

Nevermind, they didn't even cram limousines. They chilled in them.

"Ah, Kyouya! Look at the beautiful blue sky outside, the birds soaring above the hilltops…"

Tamaki looked dazedly at his best friend, only to meet chilling silence. The Ootori had somehow managed to sprawl himself out on the back seat gracefully—however that's done.

"You know, Tono, you wouldn't want to wake him up." Two voices tickled the Suoh heir's ears, the owners of them grinning impishly. "Or you could do this…" Hikaru (or was it Kaoru?) leaned over the seat, emptied a pail of ice water on Kyouya's head, and immediately forced the empty container into Tamaki's hands.

The third son of the Ootori emperor did not like being woken up in the mornings; neither did he like being woken up at night. And most of all, he did not like being woken up at an ungodly hour (three hours after noon) in a most unnatural manner, and a bucket of ice water is most unnatural. And therefore, Kyouya continued to perform his waking-up-ritual; glaring his attacker out of wherever they occupied.

A shocked Tamaki fell out of the car (what happened to the door and lock?), oblivious to the fact that the driver hadn't stopped the car. The heir and his million dollar suit skidded across the pavement, the malevolent pail still in his shaking hands.

"Thanks for the pail," Tamaki's savior said as she plucked the evil from his hands, taking it unto herself.

"W-what?" Tamaki stuttered. The Hitachiins tumbled out of the car seconds before his comment, and appeared behind him.

Grimly, Akiho proceeded to rapidly reproduce her comment using sign language.

Tamaki's eyes swirled at the dizzying motions that the girl's hands made.

The tardy Hikaru Hitachiin, on the other hand, snickered at the teen girl. "Are you deaf, mute, or something?"

Kaoru stood there, torn between sympathizing over the poor girl and his twin's extremely kindly words.

"Sure," Akiho said absentmindedly as she examined the pail for any flaws, oblivious to the stranger's scathing comment.

Tamaki and the Hitachiins were dumbfounded. "That doesn't make any sense," Hikaru remarked and the hosts nodded in agreement.

* * *

-Aoi


End file.
